


Six months in New Zealand

by McG



Series: After the end [1]
Category: Inspector Morse & Related Fandoms, Lewis (TV)
Genre: F/M, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, M/M, New Zealand, Post-Season/Series Finale, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-23 09:38:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8322937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McG/pseuds/McG
Summary: Robbie and Laura spend six months in New Zealand, James and Lizzie keep them up to date with news from home, and Robbie's estranged son gets in touch. Robbie and Mark try to rebuild a relationship that fell apart after the death of Val.





	1. Chapter 1

It was exhausting, Robbie Lewis reflected. He and his partner, Dr. Laura Hobson had not had much to do during this first visit with Laura’s new great-nephew, and yet just sitting around making small talk, drinking tea, and taking it in turns to coo over the new baby had really taken it out of him. 

The baby had been born slightly early, while Robbie and Laura had still been en route to New Zealand. Laura had wanted to be there to support her niece for the birth, although it was difficult to plan the logistics of a six month trip to the other side of the world around something as unpredictable as the precise birthdate of a baby. Mother and baby were both doing well, even without baby’s dad on the scene. 

“Have you had any more thoughts about names?” Laura asked her niece, and she stirred milk into yet another cup of tea. 

“I’m still torn,” the niece, Rachel, told her. “On the one hand I like Andrew, and now that I’ve met him I think it suits him. But I know my mum really wants me to use a family name.”

“Can you not use one as a middle name?” Robbie asked. Rachel grimaced. 

“I’ve always hated having a middle name,” she explained, “I never know when you’re supposed to use it”. 

“Well I think Andrew is a lovely name,” Laura declared, “and if my wayward sister is choosing to stay in Spain rather than come and meet her first grandchild, then I don’t think she gets to have an opinion about what you call him.” 

She leaned over and kissed Rachel’s head, stroking a finger down little baby Andrew’s cheek. “Hi, Andrew,” she whispered, grinning down at him, “I’m your great-aunt Laura. It’s nice to meet you.”

Laura sat back, and stretched. “We should probably be heading off soon. Are you sure you don’t need anything before we go?” she asked, as Robbie took his cue to start stacking the used cups onto the tray, ready to take through into the kitchen. 

“I promise, we’re fine.” Rachel assured her. “We’ve got everything we need, the cupboards are fully stocked, and we’ll see you in the morning!”

“Okay. And you promise you’ll call me if you need anything? Anything at all?” Laura asked once more. 

“I promise. Now go!” she laughed, standing and carefully hugging Robbie and Laura with one arm, baby Andrew nestled securely in the other one. 

 

 

After they got back to the apartment they were renting for the duration of their stay, Laura set about preparing an evening meal while Robbie fired up the laptop to check his emails and upload some of the pictures they’d taken of the baby earlier in the day. 

 

From: j.hathaway@thames-valley.police.gov.uk  
To: robbie_lewis54@hotmail.co.uk  
CC: laura.j.hobson@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: the baby arrived before us!

Robbie, 

Glad to hear mother and baby are doing well. 9lb 6oz is no laughing matter! Lizzie says you need to send pictures. 

All fine here. Estate agent showing some potential tenants round your house tomorrow. Going to try and get there to see if I like the cut of their jib, murderers allowing. 

Dad still the same. Ditto Nell. 

James.   
\---

 

Robbie read the email out the Laura before hitting reply.

 

From: robbie_lewis54@hotmail.co.uk;  
To: j.hathaway@thames-valley.police.gov.uk  
CC: laura.j.hobson@gmail.com  
SUBJECT: Re: the baby arrived before us!

Jim, 

Baby pictures attached for Lizzie. He has a name now: Andrew. He and Rachel were sent home from the hospital last night. 

Thanks again for being point-man for the letting agent. 

Love to all, 

Robbie.   
\---

 

From: robbie_lewis54@hotmail.co.uk;  
To: j.hathaway@thames-valley.police.gov.uk  
CC: laura.j.hobson@gmail.com  
SUBJECT: Re: the baby arrived before us!

P.s. Laura says tell Lizzie to add her on “Whats App” for a regular supply of baby photos.   
\---

 

From: j.hathaway@thames-valley.police.gov.uk  
To: lizzie.mad-rox@gmail.com   
CC: laura.j.hobson@gmail.com; robbie_lewis54@hotmail.co.uk;  
SUBJECT: FW: the baby arrived before us!

Sergeant, 

See below for baby pictures information. (also picture attached.) 

J :) 

Begin forwarded message:

From: robbie_lewis54@hotmail.co.uk;  
To: j.hathaway@thames-valley.police.gov.uk  
CC: laura.j.hobson@gmail.com  
SUBJECT: Re: the baby arrived before us!

P.s. Laura says tell Lizzie to add her on “Whats App” for a regular supply of baby photos.   
\---

 

Robbie smiled to himself, and stretched. 

“Dinner in 2 minutes,” Laura told him, “can you sort drinks out?” 

“Of course, pet. Wine?” 

“Yes please. There’s a bottle of chenin blanc in the fridge.”

Robbie’s email pinged again with a new message tone as he carried the wine bottle and glasses to the table. 

 

From: m.k.lewis@smith-jones-haskell.au  
To: robbie_lewis54@hotmail.co.uk;  
Subject: Welcome to the southern hemisphere

Dad, 

I skyped Lyn - she says you’re in NZ for six months! 

If you feel the need to get back to a civilised country for a while, it’s only a four hour flight to Melbourne… 

Apparently you’re visiting your lady friend’s family? 

Mark xx  
\---

 

From: robbie_lewis54@hotmail.co.uk;   
To: m.k.lewis@smith-jones-haskell.au  
Subject: Re: Welcome to the southern hemisphere

Mark - it’s always nice to hear from you!

Aye, i’m in Auckland with Laura for the next few months. Her niece just had a baby (little boy, Andrew, fingers and toes all present and correct). 

You knew we were living together, was that not a sign that I’m in this for the long haul? 

Sorry I didn’t tell you we were coming. To be honest, I wasn’t sure I definitely was until the last minute. And we are in a different country. 

love,  
Dad  
\---

 

From: m.k.lewis@smith-jones-haskell.au  
To: robbie_lewis54@hotmail.co.uk;  
Subject: Re: Welcome to the southern hemisphere

Dad, 

Still weird to think of you living with someone that isn’t mum. 

Did you not even think to mention that you were considering the trip even if it wasn’t confirmed? I had to hear it from Lyn. So, yeah, I get why you don’t want to come and visit, but I thought it would be polite to make the offer. 

Mark  
\---

 

From: robbie_lewis54@hotmail.co.uk;   
To: m.k.lewis@smith-jones-haskell.au  
Subject: Re: Welcome to the southern hemisphere

Mark, pet, it’s not that I didn’t want to come and visit. I miss you a lot; you know I do. But I didn’t want you to feel you had to invite us to visit you out of obligation. I’m sorry that you felt you had to go to Australia. I know I wasn’t there for you after your mam, and I’m trying to respect your choice to create that space. 

I still miss your mam, and I think of her all the time. But life goes on, and I don’t think she would have wanted me to be alone forever. I wasn’t looking for another relationship, Mark. Sometimes these things just happen. 

Love,   
Dad xx  
\---

 

From: m.k.lewis@smith-jones-haskell.au  
To: robbie_lewis54@hotmail.co.uk;  
Subject: Re: Welcome to the southern hemisphere

Dad, 

I know it’s been years - but Lyn says you knew Laura that whole time. How do we know you weren’t carrying on with her the whole time? 

Sorry you think I am an obligation. 

Mark xx  
\---

 

From: robbie_lewis54@hotmail.co.uk;   
To: m.k.lewis@smith-jones-haskell.au  
Subject: Re: Welcome to the southern hemisphere

Mark, 

You’re not an obligation. You never have been and you never will be.

I’m offended that you would even suggest that - your mam meant the world to me. 

I wish I could understand why you’re still so angry with me. I know I wasn’t much of a father when you needed me, but I’m sure you can understand why. Those first few years were like a living death for me. Surely you can understand that? I’d love to see you while we’re over here. 

What can I do to fix this, Mark?

Love,  
Dad xx  
\---

 

From: m.k.lewis@smith-jones-haskell.au  
To: robbie_lewis54@hotmail.co.uk;  
Subject: Re: Welcome to the southern hemisphere

Dad, 

Sorry. Do you have Skype set up on your computer? Maybe we can talk at the weekend? 

Xx  
\---

 

Robbie sighed and scrubbed his face with both hands. He sat back from the laptop and took another swing of his wine. The email exchange with his estranged son throughout dinner had really taken it out of him. 

Laura frowned at him in sympathy, 

“All ok with Mark?” she asked, lightly. 

Robbie had said who he was emailing, but had not narrated the conversation. His troubled relationship with his youngest child was not something he wanted to burden Laura with. Still, she knew him well enough to guess that the conversation had not been as friendly or easy as conversations with his daughter usually were. 

“Aye, pet. Just the usual. He’s suggested we have a chat at the weekend.” Robbie replied, smiling weakly. “I was thinking it would be nice to visit him while we’re in his half of the planet. Not sure he’ll go for it though. What do you reckon?” 

Laura reached over the table to squeeze his hand. 

“I would love to meet your son, Robbie. I’m also happy to amuse myself for a few days while you visit him alone if that’s what you need.” 

He twisted his grip, bringing her hand up to his face and kissing her knuckles. 

“Come on,” he said, “let’s leave the dishes for the morning and get w’selves to bed.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James has a tough week, and someone has an accident.

From: lizzie.mad-rox@gmail.com;  
To: robbie_lewis54@hotmail.co.uk;  
CC: laura.j.hobson@gmail.com;  
Subject: just a heads up

Tough case this week -- James is taking it hard (though obviously he’s claiming to be fine). A guy killed his kids then himself. I’ll spare you the details. Maybe just check in with him that he’s eating and sleeping? 

Lizzie :)  
Sent from my iPhone.  
\---

From: j.hathaway@thames-valley.police.gov.uk  
To: robbie_lewis54@hotmail.co.uk;  
Subject: The warm sun is falling, the bleak wind is wailing

The leaves are all changing colour here. Weird that it is Spring over there. That disconnect is stranger than the time difference. 

I know it’s 3am here, before you point that out in that tone of voice that you do. But I’m sitting in A&E waiting for Nell. Suspected radial fracture. 

I should send her the training video we had to sit through. “Slips, trips and falls are the biggest hazards in the workplace!” 

The various drugging/car crashes/guns/knives/etc, ad infinitum obviously are totally safe, apparently. 

I think I’m sleep deprived. Is it an abuse of my police powers to demand real coffee on pain of arrest? 

James.  
\---

From: robbie_lewis54@hotmail.co.uk;  
To: j.hathaway@thames-valley.police.gov.uk  
Subject: Re: The warm sun is falling, the bleak wind is wailing

James man, 

Get yourself to bed, asap. That’s an order. 

Lizzie mentioned that you’ve had a tough one this week - and now fretting at the hospital. Take the day off tomorrow. Or I’ll report you to Moody. 

Take care of yourself,

Robbie  
\---

From: robbie_lewis54@hotmail.co.uk;  
To: lizzie.mad-rox@gmail.com  
Cc: j.hathaway@thames-valley.police.gov.uk  
Subject: James will not be in tomorrow

Lizzie, 

James is at the hospital with his sister - something about a broken wrist. 

He needs to take the day off tomorrow and sleep. If he tries to tell you otherwise, then he’s lying. You have permission to cart him home in the boot of your car if needed. 

(No point complaining about it, Jim. You’re outnumbered. Also, make sure you eat something). 

Robbie  
\---

From: j.hathaway@thames-valley.police.gov.uk  
To: robbie_lewis54@hotmail.co.uk; lizzie.mad-rox@gmail.com  
Subject: This is MUTINY, Mr Christian!

Sergeants these days! Insubordination! No respect! 

It doesn’t do to encourage her, Robbie. 

I’m heading home now. Nell’s being packed off home with an appointment for the fracture clinic in the morning. 

Compromise: I’ll take the morning off. Maddox, you should too. I’ll let Moody know. 

James  
\---

_Meanwhile, in an Auckland suburb..._

 

The house that Robbie and Laura had rented for the duration of their stay in New Zealand was located at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac. With three bedrooms and set over two floors, it was bigger than the two of them really needed, but it was in an excellent location and just a 10 minute drive from Laura’s niece. 

The area was a mixed development that bordered a park. As a consequence, a number of walking and cycling trails criss-crossed the suburban streets, as well as the whole development being relatively compact. A small row of shops formed a central business district, and included a hairdressers, a grocery store, and a coffee shop, which turned into a winebar and informal restaurant by night. Although there was greater variety of shops and restaurants further afield, Robbie and Laura had taken to walking along to this local cafe once or twice a week for a light dinner and a relaxing drink. 

It was after one such trip one Wednesday, still early on in their stay, that the two of them walked home at dusk, hand in hand. 

The sunset cast a romantic glow, and the streetlights had just started to come on as they turned off the main road and onto their street. Just a few hundred metres long, there were only six houses on the street. Theirs was at the very end, out of sight as the road took a sharp turn just where the cycle route through the park crossed the road. 

As they approached the corner, the large looming trees cast long shadows. 

Suddenly, Robbie pulled up short, stopping mid sentence, and squeezing Laura’s hand. 

“Is that--?” he didn’t finish the sentence, but instead took off at a jog, focused and intent. 

A moment later, Laura spotted what had caught his attention: just at the end of the cycle path, disguised by the dark shadows from the trees, and out of reach of the street lights, a bulky shape on the ground. From one end, stretched out, the unmistakable shape of an arm. 

“Oh shit,” Laura muttered to herself, and she took off running, a pace or two behind Robbie. 

 

The body was that of a young woman, out cold, and bleeding from a head wound. She was tangled up with a bicycle, and looked like perhaps she’d taken a bad fall. Maybe swerving to miss an animal or having taken a glancing blow from a passing car, although there was no sign of anyone else around. A rucksack had spilled from the bike’s basket, and her crash helmet, clearly not being worn on the warm evening, was clipped to the bag’s straps. 

Dropping to his knees beside the woman, Robbie stretched out a hand to touch her shoulder.

“Can you hear me?” he asked, checking for a response as Laura crouched beside him and reached out to take the woman’s pulse. 

“I’ve got a pulse, but it’s weak. Call for an ambulance.” Laura instructed, as her medical training kicked in. 

Robbie stepped back and let Laura work, as he called for help. As he did so, he noticed something odd. The woman was sprawled on her right hand side, and scuff marks on the gravel path showed that her bike had skidded sideways and she had indeed fallen onto her right, rather than having rolled there after the fall. 

But the wound on her head made no sense. The placement, even to his non-medical eye, was clearly on the opposite side of her head. 

“Laura,” he drew her attention to the wound, careful now not to disturb the ground any further. “Is it just me, or…”

“She’s been hit on the head.” Laura agreed, “and,” she continued, using the torch on her phone to shine more light on the injury, “it’s a heavy blow. Consistent with being hit with something with quite a lot of force, I would say. I can’t think of any circumstances where that would happen accidentally.”

She rocked back onto her heels, still holding the woman’s wrist as she monitored her vital signs.

“Are the police coming too?” she asked. 

“Yeah. I said it looked like it could have been a hit and run, given she’s so close to the road. They’ll be ten minutes, they reckon. Ambulance might be a bit faster.”

Robbie sighed. He shed his jacket and used it to cover the woman even as he started to scan the vicinity for signs of another person. The trail was well used by cyclists, dog walkers, and runners. The compacted cinder surface showed tyre tracks and footprints well, but it would be almost impossible to discern how recent they were, let alone who they might belong to. The dark shadows caused by the trees only increased as night fell. There would be little for the scene of crime team to tell, though of course he would do his best to try and preserve the scene as much as possible. Without compromising the efforts of the medics of course. 

He took out his phone, and fiddled with it to load the camera. Checking the flash was turned on, he took a few snaps of the scene, the tyre skid marks he’d spotted, and the positioning of the woman as well as her bike, bag, and the wound on her head. 

Laura continued to monitor her closely, a comforting hand placed lightly on the woman’s shoulder as she murmured calmly to try and reassure their injured woman that all would be well. 

Satisfied that he had captured his initial assessment of the scene with sufficient pictures, Robbie carefully opened the woman’s bag, hunting for a purse without affecting the placement too much. The bag did not appear to have been disturbed so he did not worry too much about fingerprints or forensic evidence. He found the woman’s purse and phone in an outside pocket and checked for ID. 

“Her name’s Victoria Smith,” Robbie read out, “she’s 27, lives in Auckland.”

He crouched next to Laura again, and spoke directly to their casualty. 

“It’s alright, Victoria, help is on its way. We’ll get you sorted out, don’t you worry.”

Finally they could hear the sound of sirens in the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hathaway’s subject lines in his emails are literary quotes/paraphrases
> 
> “The warm sun is falling, the bleak wind is wailing” is the first line of “Autumn: A Dirge” by Percy Bysshe Shelley in the subject line of his email. 
> 
> “This is mutiny, Mr. Christian!” is reference to the mutiny on The Bounty in 1789, which has been the inspiration for a number of films, for example 1984’s The Bounty, starring Anthony Hopkins, as Captain Bligh (and also Edward Fox, uncle to Laurence Fox).


	3. Chapter 3

The local police were pleased to realise that the unconscious girl had been found by a policeman and a medic, albeit ones with no formal remit in the country. Procedure for suspicious accidents may have differed in the detail, but an experienced detective having photographed the scene before the chaos of the paramedics arriving was definitely an advantage. 

The police escorted Robbie and Laura the rest of the way to their house to take their statements, with reassurances that they could contact the hospital in the morning to find out the girl’s progress. 

They were kept in separate rooms while the statements were taken. Robbie was both soothed by the familiarity of the process and frustrated with being on this side of the questions. 

_Who was he? What was he doing in New Zealand? How come they came to be passing the scene of crime? Exactly what time did he arrive and leave the cafe? What did he have to eat? What did Laura have to eat? Would the cafe staff remember what time they left? Did they know the victim? Was he sure? Not even in passing? Had they seen anyone else around the area, either on their way out or their way home? Heard anything?_

The questions dragged on, though Robbie was polite enough not to let his frustration show. These uniformed officers probably wanted to be there about as much as he did. 

Eventually, after many questions, multiple cups of tea, and with instructions to come into the station to sign typed up copies of their statements in the morning, the police officers left. Robbie and Laura were finally left alone, allowed to collapse exhausted into bed. 

\---

There was little visible progress in the case over the next couple of days. Victoria, the injured girl, remained in a stable condition in hospital but had yet to regain consciousness. Her family had been interviewed but could not provide any further insight into why she may have been attacked, and no witnesses had so far come forward. 

On Friday evening, Laura went to her niece's house to do a few hours of babysitting while Rachel took some time to rest and look after herself. They were planning to cook together, so Robbie ordered a takeaway and sat down with his laptop to catch up on emails. 

\---  
From: j.hathaway@thames-valley.police.gov.uk;  
To: robbie_lewis54@hotmail.co.uk;  
Subject: wish you were here?

Not bloody likely - Moody has us signed up for some sort of team building exercise this weekend. Apparently it’s compulsory. Any absence through illness will need to be corroborated by a comprehensive medical report. I’m considering breaking a leg. 

We solved the mystery of the disappearing paperclips. They had been tidied up. Into the cupboard in the break room - the one with the extra fairy liquid. No one is owning up. My money is on either a jaded cleaner, or a trans-dimensional portal. 

No murders for a while here. If you get hold of any of the police info for your stricken cyclist feel free to send it over for a fresh pair of eyes. Though by the sounds of it, it might end up about as solvable as the huge stack of cold cases currently threatening to topple off the end of my desk. 

I think Lizzie’s realised that I am emailing you rather than typing up the report I’m supposed to be working on. Better dash. 

J  
\---

Robbie grinned. He was getting good at inferring James’ mood from the tone of his emails. Verbose and rambling meant exasperated or relaxed. Short and terse could mean stressed out and unhappy, but also sometimes reflected a desire for solitude, without any anger. 

This one, he gathered, was pure procrastination, plus a chance to complain about the boss. Lizzie was usually receptive to James’ distrust of authority, but Robbie could imagine that she would be able to appreciate the good intentions behind CS Moody’s team building plans. 

\---  
From: robbie_lewis54@hotmail.co.uk;  
To: j.hathaway@thames-valley.police.gov.uk;  
Subject: RE: wish you were here?

James, 

Obviously I’m as willing as ever to break one of your legs for the purposes of avoiding social contact with other humans. It’s a bit tricky to do it from all the way over here though. Maybe ask your sister? Or if you keep annoying Sgt Maddox by skiving off your work to email me, she might just do it unprompted. 

Laura’s hanging out with Rachel and baby Andrew this evening, so I’m all on me lonesome. Got a curry and some beer for company at least. 

Still no news on our cyclist. We had a thank you card from her parents. Honestly, anyone would have done the same. Don’t suppose you want to have a word with the Man Upstairs for her? 

I will keep all my fingers crossed for you today - one whole workday to get through in which you might find yourself shot or stabbed before the weekend. 

Robbie :)   
\---

He shook his head ruefully and silently gave thanks that he was missing out on enforced team building exercises. Still, he supposed, the collective hatred for trust exercises or orienteering or whatever else they had them doing might bring the team closer together. 

His email account pinged again.

\---  
From: m.k.lewis@smith-jones-haskell.au  
To: robbie_lewis54@hotmail.co.uk;  
Subject: 3pm tomorrow?

Dad,

Still ok to skype tomorrow? 3 o’clock ok? I’ll call you, unless i hear otherwise. 

It was nice to talk to you last weekend. Sorry again for being a bit of a dick in my emails. I know you’re trying to make amends. I always set out being a calm, rational adult. But then half the time i just remember why i came here in the first place and get upset again. 

Not your fault, i know that. I hope you do too. 

I was thinking - i still have some holiday days to use up before the end of the year. I might take a week off and i could fly over to see you? Meet Laura? Have a think and we can talk about it tomorrow. 

Let me know if you want to do a different time. 

Love you lots,

Mark xx   
\---

Robbie sent off a quick reply to confirm the time for their Skype call, and then went to get a plate and cutlery ready. Right on cue the delivery food arrived, and by the time he was once again settled on the sofa with his meal, a fresh beer, and a property programme on the telly, he had had a reply from James. 

\---  
From: j.hathaway@thames-valley.police.gov.uk;  
To: robbie_lewis54@hotmail.co.uk;  
Subject: RE: wish you were here?

Report with trepidation that i am still alive and well. 

Just about to head to work. Have been rowing this morning but failed to either drown or stumble across any grisly murder scenes. 

Maybe a serial killer has been on a murder spree overnight? Or at the very least I can hope that Moody might have come to his senses and realised that filling up a plastic bag with water using a sieve is not actually conducive to effective police work. 

I’ll have a word with the big guy for your sleeping beauty. I might be out of favour with Him though: not sure he’s a fan of me wishing murderers on Oxford. (Oxford being God’s own country. Obviously.)

Right, you have the time it takes me to drive to work to think of an escape plan for me. Looking forward to seeing your ideas. 

J

P.s. I’ll check whether He agrees that “Team Building” was in fact invented by the devil. I think we both know what the answer will be.

Sent from my iPhone  
\---

\---  
From: robbie_lewis54@hotmail.co.uk;  
To: j.hathaway@thames-valley.police.gov.uk;  
Subject: RE: wish you were here?

If team building was invented by the devil then you can ask for an exemption on religious grounds…? 

Sorry, I’ve nothing better than that. My brain is obviously out of practice. 

Robbie.   
\---

There was no reply from James until later. Robbie picked up the email the following morning, New Zealand time, and chuckled to himself, with a twinge of nostalgia and regret that he wasn’t there to share in the collective complaints he could imagine from the team. 

\---  
From: j.hathaway@thames-valley.police.gov.uk;  
To: robbie_lewis54@hotmail.co.uk;  
Subject: RE: wish you were here?

Alas; alack. 

Morituri te salutant.

J

Sent from my iPhone  
\---

 

Later on that day, Robbie gained another reason to be cheerful. 

Victoria Smith, their cyclist victim, had finally regained consciousness. 

One of the police officers they had encountered in that first chaotic night took the time to come to the house to update them personally. 

It was early days still, and the head wound was very serious, but the doctors were optimistic that she would recover in time. The girl’s parents, who had driven from their home in Christchurch to be with their daughter, extended their thanks again to Robbie and Laura, and had invited them to visit the hospital to see Victoria’s progress for themselves. 

This good news was still tinged with some bad: despite having a patchy recollection of the incident, Victoria had no idea who had attacked her, nor any idea why. She hadn’t seen anything or heard anything prior to being struck on the head, and she could think of no one who might have reason to do her harm. 

\---


	4. Chapter 4

Robbie looked at his watch and then up at the arrivals board one more time. Laura was flicking through a newspaper and sipping coffee at one of the tables in the cafe of the arrivals hall, but Robbie was nervous and couldn’t keep still. 

He groaned in frustration as, yet again, the digital display updated itself, showing that the delayed inbound flight from Melbourne would still be another 30 minutes. Reluctantly he rejoined Laura at the cafe and sipped his rapidly cooling coffee. 

“The flight’s delayed another 30 minutes yet. I don’t know what’s taking them so long,” he complained. 

“Relax,” Laura told him, “he’ll get here when he gets here.” she smiled, supportively.

“Ah, I know pet.”

“Here, eat this,” she told him, pushing over the uneaten half of her croissant. “It will be fine”. 

Robbie pulled a face, but began to pick at the croissant nonetheless. 

Laura watched him carefully for a moment and then reached out her hand to cover his, and squeezed it in reassurance. 

“I know you’re worried,” Laura told him quietly, “but Mark will be here soon, and he will be pleased to see you. I know things haven’t been great between you, but he’s coming here of his own free will, and I am looking forward to meeting him.” 

Robbie smiled in acknowledgment, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He sighed, and after another glance at the arrivals board to see still no change, he pulled out his phone and fired up the email app. 

\---  
From: robbie_lewis54@hotmail.co.uk  
To: j.hathaway@thames-valley.police.gov.uk  
Subject: house stuff

James, 

Did you sort out the problem with the plumber for the tenants ok? 

I’ll pester the letting agents again if you need me to. Just let me know. 

Mark is flying in from Oz to visit for the week. T-30 mins on his flight arriving. So don’t panic if there’s radio silence from us for the next few days.

Robbie.  
\---

His phone pinged with the incoming email notification just as the arrival of the flight from Melbourne was announced. He managed a hasty glance, and luckily the response from James was pretty short. 

\---  
From: j.hathaway@thames-valley.police.gov.uk  
To: robbie_lewis54@hotmail.co.uk  
Subject: RE: house stuff

Ah, the prodigal! 

I’m all over the house stuff - nothing to worry about there. 

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to the land of nod. 

J   
\---

 

Robbie smiled, spirits buoyed by the cheerful little missive from his best friend, and he reached out and took Laura’s hand as they crossed from the small coffee shop to wait in clear sight of the arrivals gate.

Robbie hadn’t seen his son in over 10 years now. The time apart had seen sporadic communication between the two men. Always birthday and Christmas greetings - either by phone or email. And Robbie didn’t do social media, so the photos he’d seen over the years were few, shared by Mark’s sister. 

Even so, despite the time and the lack of information to go on, Robbie instantly recognised his son the second he walked through the door from the customs hall. He was a little taller than Robbie, and of a similar stocky build. He obviously took a lot of care with his appearance though: his hair had grown longer and was brushed back off his face. Tattoos adorned both forearms, visible under the rolled up sleeves of the checked shirt that he wore unbuttoned over a white t-shirt. Black skinny jeans tucked into boots, a leather holdall slung over one shoulder, and a pair of glasses with bold frames completed the outfit. 

Mark spotted his father almost at the same instant, and he broke into a broad grin, striding over to meet the older man. His nerves at seeing his dad for the first time in years were briefly forgotten, resurfacing only as he came to a stop in front of him. 

The moment was charged with anticipation. 

Laura was worried there would be another emotionally stilted scene such as the one where James had dropped them off at Heathrow. Luckily, the moment passed. 

Mark, whether through nature or nurture, was more effusive, and he reached out and enveloped Robbie in a hug. 

“It’s so good to see you,” he told him, slightly muffled as his face was tucked into his dad’s shoulder. 

“Aye, you too, son.” Robbie replied, his voice thick with emotion. 

Robbie took a step back, ending the embrace, and cleared his throat. Laura cut in to give him a moment to collect himself. 

“Hi,” she said, smiling widely at Mark and holding out a hand to shake, “I’m Laura. It’s great to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Mark ignored her outstretched hand in favour of pulling her into a brief hug as well. 

“I dread to think,” Mark told her. “No doubt he’s prepared you for my visit with the Best Of collection of my childhood indiscretions?” 

Laura grinned impishly, “But of course!” she replied. “That’s how I know I like you.”

Her easy manner and welcoming charm kept the conversation flowing and light as they negotiated the walk back to the car. By the time they were settled and underway, Robbie had completely regained his composure and could once again take his fair share of the conversational duties. He was midway through reminiscing about the time he’d been required to go undercover on a cricket team by the time they turned off the main road and began winding through the sleepy suburb towards their rented accommodation. 

 

\---

From: robbie_lewis54@hotmail.co.uk  
To: lvlewis@cmht.nhs.uk  
Subject: Safe arrival

Lyn, 

Just a quick note to let you know that Mark has arrived safely in NZ. We’re just back at the house now.

Lots of love,   
Dad xx  
\---

Mark Lewis  
I’ve arrived! You were right about Laura - I like her already. Just unpacking and stuff, and then apparently we’re all going out for a walk.   
12:32

Lyn Lewis   
Of course I’m right. Now piss off, I’m trying to sleep.   
23:33

Mark Lewis  
Love you too, sis.   
12:36

Lyn Lewis  
*eyeroll* You know I love you, bro. Let me know how it goes.   
23:36

Mark Lewis  
If it goes as badly as i’m expecting, you’ll probably be able to hear the yelling from over there. Wish me luck?  
12:37

Lyn Lewis  
It will be fine. No extreme yelling, I guarantee you. Night night xx  
23:51

\---

 

Later on that day, once Mark had got settled and unpacked, he and Robbie had taken a trip out to the supermarket while Laura visited her niece and baby Andrew, and they reassembled back at the apartment in time for dinner. 

“What would you prefer?” Robbie asked his son, “you're the guest, you can choose?”

“Anything is fine, dad. I promise. I’ll even cook if you like - but I’m tired and I’d rather not go to the hassle of choosing somewhere to eat out if that’s ok.”

“Of course it’s ok” Laura told him, talking over Robbie’s attempt to say that he would happily choose a restaurant if that was what Mark preferred. 

The mood was amiable, although a little tense. That tension only grew as the meal went on. Robbie, sensing that something was amiss, attributed it to the lingering awkwardness of their estrangement. 

Once the main course was finished, and dessert served, Robbie poured out a second glass of wine for each of them and offered. 

“I propose we make a toast.” he said, “to family!”

“To family!” echoed Laura and Mark. 

But Mark didn’t meet his father’s eye when he said it. 

\---

After the meal was finished and the plates cleared away, Robbie made to go and sit on the sofa, but Mark stopped him before he could.

“Can we just sit down here for a moment?” he asked, gesturing again to the chairs around the small dining table. 

Robbie and Laura exchanged a puzzled look, but sat anyway.

Mark had become increasingly subdued at their meal had gone on, which Robbie had put down to tiredness from the journey, and from spending so much time with two people who he didn’t really know that well. But now it looked as if perhaps he had something particular on his mind after all. 

Mark shuffled his chair forward and cleared his throat, compulsively reaching out to his wine glass, but not taking a drink. 

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” he began, once everyone was seated. “Something important.”

“Aye, go on, lad,” Robbie encouraged, frowning now at the nervous disposition of his son. 

“You know that when I first left the UK, it was because I was upset about mum, and I felt like you had shut me out,” Mark kept his gaze down at the table in front of him as he spoke. “And now I’m a bit older and a bit wiser, I can see how that was a little unfair on you. We were all going through the same thing, and perhaps I should have tried a little harder to reach out.” 

“You were only a lad,” Robbie reassured him. Laura laid a hand on Robbie’s arm and gave it a comforting squeeze. 

“I know. Which is why I couldn’t stay, and couldn’t deal with it. But I am sorry for how it happened regardless.” he took a deep breath before continuing, “but that’s not why I stayed for so long. 

“The first couple of years were pretty terrible. Missing Mum, and not talking to you, and barely able to speak to Lyn. But I got a good job, and I made friends, and I still miss Mum, but it’s something I can live with now.

“I stayed because I wasn’t sure if I could come home.” 

Mark paused then, and sat back in his chair, taking a sip of wine and fixing his gaze at a point over his father’s head.

“I wasn’t sure if I could come home, whether I would be welcome or if I would be rejected, because I wasn't sure you would accept me.” An infinitesimal pause in which he finally looked Robbie in the eye. “Because I’m gay.”

Robbie reeled back, feeling like he had received a physical blow. 

“You… Are you stupid, man!?” he demanded of his only son. 

Misunderstanding his father’s reaction, Mark swallowed hard against his instinct to yell, and abruptly stood and walked away from the table instead, crossing through to the small kitchen to gain some space. Robbie stared after him for a moment, before turning to Laura, gaping in shock. She patted him on the arm, and then left the table to follow Mark. She knew Robbie well enough to allow him a couple of minutes to collect himself. 

 

“Are you OK?” Laura asked, hesitating in the kitchen doorway. Mark was standing at the sink, braced against it with his head bowed. Before answering he took a glass off the draining board and filled it from the tap, taking a few sips. Laura noted that his hands were shaking slightly. 

“No idea,” he answered honestly. 

“You’ve given your dad a bit of a surprise,” she told him. “But he’s not so old fashioned as all that. He needs a couple of minutes to take it in, that’s all.”

Mark huffed sceptically. “Yeah, sure. That’s why he wants to know if I’m stupid. God, I _am_ stupid. I shouldn’t have told him.”

“Hey, let’s give him a chance before you jump to conclusions.” Laura said. “I’ll put the kettle on; I think we could all do with a cup of tea.”

\---


	5. Chapter 5

The atmosphere in the house was tense. 

Robbie had gone for a walk to clear his head, while Mark shut himself in the guest room. Laura patiently cleared up the kitchen after the meal, and finished the wine, all the while muttering to herself about men and their emotions. 

She settled herself into the corner of the sofa to wait for Robbie’s return and grabbed her phone, opening the message app. 

Laura H  
Why do perfectly modern, open-minded, sensible chaps revert to cavemen when they are faced with actual emotions?   
20:01

The dots that indicated James was typing were displaying for a while, so she took the opportunity to review the latest pictures of the new baby, and forward a few on to her interested friends. When she flicked back to her messages, she had three in a row from James in response. 

James   
They are socialised according to gendered norms, to a greater or lesser extent depending on the culture in which they were raised as well as that in which they find themselves as adults. In a typical white western culture (and i suspect you are alluding particularly to a working-class white western culture), the overt display of emotional response if often viewed as feminine and therefore associated weakness when exhibited by a man.   
08:04

James  
But you already know this.  
08:05

James  
...Smash the patriarchy?  
08:06

\---

When Robbie got back from his walk he went straight up to the guest room and knocked. 

“Mark? Can I come in?” he called through the door, tentatively. 

The grunt he received in response reminded him a lot of when Mark had lived at home in his difficult teenage years. He sent up a silent regret that it had always been Val who sorted out these problems. Although it was easier at the time, it left him at a bit of a loss now. 

He took the grunt as acquiescence and went in. Mark was sitting on an armchair in the corner of the room. There was a book on his lap, but it was closed with the bookmark in place. He had been staring thoughtfully out of the window, rather than reading. Robbie perched on the end of the bed and stared at his own feet while he spoke. 

“I’m sorry.” he began. “I’m sorry that I didn’t react how you wanted me to. But mostly I’m sorry that you never told me this before. Sorry you couldn’t tell me, I mean. I wasn’t there for you when I should have been, and I don’t just mean after your mam died, but when you were growing up and all.”

“What, you think I grew up faulty cos you weren’t around enough you mean?” Mark huffed. He was being deliberately combative, trying to shield himself from a hurt he expected to come. 

“For god’s sake, Mark. Will y’listen to me for a second instead of deciding what i think for me?” 

Mark kept silent, sullenly looking away from his father. 

“You’re me son, and I love you.” Robbie continued. “Nothing would change that. I feel bad enough that we’re practically strangers, but there’s nothing in the world that would make me stop loving you or your sister. And all i want is for you both to be happy. Now,” he stood up, “will you come over here and give us a hug? Or is that too many awkward emotions for you?” 

\---

“So is there, y’know, anyone special?” Robbie asked the following morning, as the three of them sat down to eat breakfast. “A boyfriend or whatnot?” he felt a momentary hesitation over the word boyfriend. 

Robbie was a pretty unflappable man, especially in light of his job, but he lacked a cultural frame of reference for this. Nonetheless, he persevered. 

“No, no one special, Dad. A couple of maybes over the last few years, but none that have stuck.” Mark told him. He’d sensed the slight discomfort from his dad, but in light of the effort he was making, Mark chose not to question it.

“Does Lyn know?” Laura asked, pleased that there was some actual emotional work being done. 

“Ah, yeah,” Mark glanced down at his toast, blushing slightly, “Don’t be upset that she’s kept it secret. If it helps, she’s always on at me to tell you.” 

“Oof, I don’t expect her to tell tales on you behind your back, son.” Robbie said. 

 

And so they carried on like that for the next few days. Robbie and Laura took Mark to the places they had found and liked in the neighbourhood, and all three of them ventured further afield so that they could tick off a few of the ‘must-see’ items they had identified for their trip. 

They spent some time visiting Laura’s niece, and Mark bemoaned that he had yet to meet his nephew in person, and had to share in his life by pictures and videos instead. 

There were some more slightly stilted conversations about Mark’s private life, and neither father nor son was hugely comfortable approaching the topic of Val and her death, or discussing their estrangement. But, still. The atmosphere was for the most part amiable, and before they knew it, there were just two days left before Mark was due to return to Melbourne. 

“I’ll just pop out and get some wine,” Robbie announced, kissing Laura on the head, and clapping a hand on Mark’s shoulder. “I’ve got time before the food’s ready, haven’t I?”

“Yes,” Mark assured him, standing stirring a pan at the cooker. “It’s got to go in the oven for an hour yet, and i’ve not even made the cheese sauce.” 

Robbie grabbed his keys and departed. 

“Need a hand with anything?” Laura asked. She had assembled a salad while Robbie laid the table, but Mark had banned both of them from contributing anything further to the meal. 

“Nope. I told you already, this is my treat to thank you both for having me to stay.” 

“I’m glad that the two of you have cleared the air a little,” Laura told him. 

“Hmm, me too.” Mark agreed. “I feel a bit daft that I expected such a negative reaction. I guess I hadn’t really thought about Dad as a person. I’ve always just thought of him as Dad. Does that make sense?” 

“Yes, I think I know what you mean.” Laura said. “You’ve never really had a chance to get to know him as a fellow adult. You came out to Australia pretty much as soon as you finished university, didn’t you?” 

“Yeah - I finished my degree, travelled a bit in Europe, interrail and such, then Mum died, and then I buggered off. I told her you know. That I was gay. I was working up to telling dad when I came home at Christmas. But then, well, we didn’t have Christmas in the end.”

“I am so sorry,” Laura told him. “About your mum. I never met her, not properly. A quick introduction once when I bumped into them at the supermarket, and I saw them both in the pub for drinks after Morse died. But I know your dad was devoted to her. He used to talk about her all the time. He does still sometimes. More than he used to.”

“That’s good. I’m glad.” 

Mark switched off the heat under the pan of bolognese sauce, and started to assemble the ingredients for cheese sauce. 

Laura helped out by pulling a measuring jug and a cheese grater from the cupboard and passing them across. She sat at the breakfast bar while Mark made the cheese sauce and layered it with the bolognese sauce and lasagne sheets in a casserole dish. 

Once it was in the oven, and the cooking dishes rinsed and loaded into the dishwasher, he joined Laura and sipped at a beer. 

“Shouldn’t dad be back by now?” Mark wondered, glancing at his watch. 

Laura looked up at the wall clock and frowned. 

“Yes,” she agreed, “it should only take 10 minutes.” 

They resumed their easy conversation while they waited, but once the smell of baking pasta and melted cheese started to emanate from the oven, and Robbie still wasn’t back, Laura began to worry. 

Sensing her growing anxiety, and beginning to worry himself, Mark laid a hand on her shoulder and made to stand up. 

“I’ll just go and see if I can see him coming,” Mark said, “dinner will be ready before him at this rate.” 

Laura finished her glass of water then rinsed it out at the sink. 

“LAURA!” 

She dropped the glass when she heard Mark shout, barely noticing it shatter in the sink. 

She dashed to follow him out the front door at the urgency in his voice, and stopped cold for a moment at what she saw. 

Mark, crouched down in the road just beyond the house, over the prone form of his father. Blood covered half of Robbie’s face from a wound on his head, and a smashed bottle of wine leaked from a carrier bag beside him. 

Laura unfroze, medical training kicking in, and rushed over to join Mark, bending down to check for a pulse.


	6. At the hospital...

Later, Laura would only be able to recall the next hour or so in flashes. Static images, and short bursts of sound all blurred together. 

There was the flashing lights of the ambulance, reflecting off the front wall of the house and lighting up the evening. 

The routine call and response of the medics working together was both soothing and jarring. It was reminiscent of her emergency medicine placement as a trainee so many years ago, but also subtly different. 

The sound of the banging of doors stuck out. The rush through the emergency department in the hospital. And then waiting. 

Waiting in a hard plastic chair, under fluorescent strip lighting. The electric hum of a vending machine to her left. 

Footsteps squeaking down the corridor. The familiar smell of disinfectant. The bright laughter of a child in the waiting room, discordant against the sombre mood. 

\----

This is ridiculous. She’s a trained medical doctor. She has years of experience as a pathologist, so she’s well practiced in keeping calm in a crisis. 

But, but, but… 

All she can hear is the emergency doctor’s words: _it’s quite a blow to the head, we’ll not know the extent of the injury for a while._

It’s too soon to tell. Brain injury. Swelling. 

She didn’t even get a chance to explain that she’s also a doctor. She wants to see the CT scan results, to look through his chart, to track the 15 minute observations of pulse, oxygen saturation, blood pressure. 

She wants this not to be happening. 

\----

Laura finally fell back into the harsh reality with the arrival of Mark and two police officers. It’s taken a while for him to get to the hospital, via giving a police statement, dealing with practical matters like locking up the house and bringing money and shoes for Laura, who in the chaos had jumped into the ambulance barefoot. 

Mark uses the money to buy a terrible vending machine coffee (it’s hot and wet, and has a cloying sweetness of too many added sugars. Objectively it’s undrinkable, but she gulps it down as if she’d spent a week in the Sahara). 

The police speak to the receptionist and find them a private room to talk. Relaying the information from the medical team helps to ground her. Mark takes her hand and looks worried, but he doesn’t interrupt or ask any questions. Then the police want her to make a statement, not that she knows much at all. The younger of the police looks nervous. Laura stares at his shoes the whole time. The older officer is female, and has an air of confidence. 

The police talk her and Mark through what is happening from their point of view. There is a forensic team on site now, and they are liaising with the officers who investigated the attack on the young girl all those weeks ago. Robbie still had his wallet and watch on him, so him being a potential witness to that other attack seems the only possible motive. Laura tries to explain that they didn’t see anything, not really. This seems like a terrible reason to attack someone. All they had done was some basic first aid and calling the emergency services. 

More terrible coffee is brought, along with bags of crisps, chocolate, and a sad ham sandwich in a squashed plastic packet. 

There are no more updates of note. Though no one kicks them out of the side room, and the younger police officer stays with them even when his older colleague is called back to the crime scene. 

The nurses pop in occasionally to report no change. Every time they come in, Laura feels her pulse race and she can barely breathe until she realises that it’s not bad news. Mark steps outside to call Lynn and let her know what’s happened. When he comes back in he smells of cigarette smoke.

Around 6am, a doctor comes to tell them that they’re moving Robbie to the High Dependency Unit, and that they can go to the waiting room there now. They stop at the vending machine for more snacks on the way, and Laura switches from terrible coffee to a supposed cup of tea, which tastes bitter, and not like any tea she’s ever tasted before. 

The waiting room in the HDU is open plan, next to the nurse’s station. The chairs are more comfortable though. The young policeman comes with them. There’s a vending machine here too, close to the lifts. It has sold out of chocolate biscuits, but there are still plenty of crisps. 

Laura’s phone beeps and she startles. She’d almost forgotten that she had it with her. 

James  
“All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does, and that is his.” Oscar Wilde arguing for better emotional education of young men, perhaps. Sorted out your non-communicative menfolk yet?  
18:11  


Laura frowns, and scrolls briefly back to the previous messages, reminding herself what the hell James was on about. Was that really only yesterday? Not even twelve hours ago. 

Her hands shake slightly as she fumbles to reply. 

Laura H  
James, Robbie in hospital. Unknown assailant has bashed him on the head. Admitted to HDU. Waiting for news. Sorry.  
06:13

His reply comes quickly. 

James  
Can I help? Does Lynn know? Keep me in the loop. Call any time.  
18:14

Laura H  
Mark has called Lynn. Will let you know when we know something.  
06:16

She waits a moment, but then when no further messages appear, pockets her phone again. 

The older police officer is back, _(Samantha, Laura reminds herself, she told us to call her Samantha)_ , and she has a plain clothes colleague with her. Both women look tired, Laura thinks. But they at least come with good news. 

The plain clothes detective introduces herself as Inspector Dorothy Fowler. 

“We’ve apprehended a suspect, and he’s in custody now.” she explained, taking a seat next to Mark, opposite Laura. She smiled in a reassuring manner. 

“We’re not in a position to divulge any details yet, but we’re confident that this is the man who attacked Mr. Lewis, and that he is the same man that attacked Victoria Smith.” she paused briefly, “Off the record, he’s apparently an ex-colleague, and there’s some suggestion that he had been stalking her. But you didn’t hear that from me.” 

Inspector Fowler pats Mark on the shoulder, and then frowns, 

“I understand Mr. Lewis is also Detective Inspector Lewis?” she asks, looking between Mark and Laura for confirmation. “You might be far from home, but he’s still a policeman, and we don’t take kindly to attacks against one of our own. We’ll make sure this guy doesn’t wiggle out on a technicality. He’s going down for this. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Fowler leaves, but Samantha stays. Laura wishes she could remember her surname. 

“Your man did well,” Samantha tells them, “our suspect had a dislocated shoulder, from a defensive move or an attempt at restraint perhaps. He was behaving very oddly at a walk in medical centre, so the staff called us. He was practically falling over himself to confess everything by the time the patrol car responded.”

Laura smiled, 

“Shame Robbie didn't think to shout for help though!” she complained, shaking her head. 

Objectively, this is good news. The assailant has been caught, and two violent assaults should be brought to trial, all being well. But there’s still no news on Robbie’s condition. Might not be for hours yet. And possibly much longer before they have a prognosis, if the injury is particularly severe. 

Their police escort swap over by nine o’clock, and the ward seems busier. Official visiting hours aren’t until the afternoon but there seem to be a few other people who are allowed in outside of the set time. 

The day shift nurse tries to encourage them to go home to sleep and eat, but Mark is already refusing even before Laura can think of a response. 

Eventually they’re allowed into the room to sit watch by Robbie’s bed. A silent vigil, aside from the beeping of machines, and the rustle of paper as Laura takes the opportunity to finally examine his medical chart. 

There are more conversations between Mark and Lynn, mostly via texts. James sends two messages over the course of the day, reassurance that he will help in any way he can, and the offer of practical help to call the travel insurance company. An email from Lizzie pops up saying that she’s thinking of them, and that she’s happy to help in any way she can. 

In the early afternoon, after Mark and Laura have each taken it in turns to venture to the hospital cafe to find something more substantial than vending machine snacks, Laura’s phone rings. 

The display shows Rachel calling, and she steps out into the stairwell to answer it. 

“Oh my god, aunty Laura! Are you ok?” Laura can hear Andrew wailing in the background, perhaps picking up on his mother’s distress. “I stopped by your place on my way home from the shops, and I saw all the police.They told me Robbie had been taken to hospital but they wouldn’t say what happened or why!”

Laura talked her through the incident, the mad dash to the hospital, the suspect in custody and the interminable wait for news of Robbie’s condition. 

Later, Robbie is taken for another CT scan, the results still inconclusive, although it’s reassuring to hear the very cautious optimism from the doctor, _we’re hopeful that there’s no immediate danger,_ and, _there’s been no deterioration in his condition, which is a good sign at this stage_. It’s not news, not really, but Laura clings to it anyway. 

Eventually, eventually, there is a change. Robbie starts to stir, and the beeping of the monitors picks up as his heart rate and blood pressure respond to the increase in consciousness. 

Laura reaches out to hit the call button and punches Mark in the arm to wake him from his dozing in the chair beside the bed. 

Another flurry of activity happens, as the nurse checks his responses and scribbles on the chart, and then a doctor and two medical students arrive, crowding the small room. Then Laura hears the best thing in the world. 

“Ah, me head, man!”


	7. Epilogue

Mark delayed his return trip, explaining to his boss about the family emergency. After a few days, the hospital discharged Robbie, with strict instructions that he take it easy, and Mark agreed to return to Melbourne. Laura insisted on dropping him off at the airport. Robbie wanted to come but the recovery from concussion left him drowsy, and Laura persuaded him to stay at home. 

Both Lewis children demanded regular messages and phonecalls with their dad for the remainder of the trip. Even once all lingering effects of the blow to the head had cleared up, and the doctor had declared him fit for normal activity, his kids remained clingy. 

James seemed to be his usual esoteric self, though Robbie suspected that he was behind the obnoxious Get Well Soon card that arrived in the post, signed by most of his colleagues. The picture on the front of the card showed a sickeningly cutesy bear with a bandage on its head, holding a bunch of flowers. 

Inside, squashed into a corner among all the various messages both long and short, James’ simply read, _Something witty, yet sincere. -- James_. 

The headaches continue for the best part of a fortnight, and then Robbie complains he’s getting a whole new batch of headaches from all the insurance paperwork he has to complete for the medical cover. 

But slowly they resume the tourism trips round the country, and they spend more time with baby Andrew as he gets closer to weaning. And then suddenly, it’s their final week in New Zealand and time to start packing up, and cleaning the house. 

Rachel and Andrew drive them to the airport, Andrew sporting a little t-shirt that proclaims his love for Oxford. Check in is straightforward, even with all of their luggage, and the flight is mercifully on time. Last minute gifts are bought, and then finally it’s time to board.

As the plane takes off, and Robbie and Laura peer out the windows as Aukland disappears below them, he puts an arm around her shoulders and pulls her in close, kissing the top of her head. 

“What a nice, relaxing time we had,” he quips, laughing.


End file.
